100 Themes Writing Challenge
The snow was falling in small puffs of white, the air was filled with mist from people’s mouths and noses as they rushed over the walkways. Most of them were in warm coats and boots, hands shoved into pockets or gloves.
She stood off to the side, in her thin coat that barely held up in autumn and her hands pushed under her armpits in an attempt to conserve body heat, watching. Dark eyes that saw most everything judged who would be safe to steal from and who would not.
That woman in the bulky coat and so many bags. She was clumsy, probably wouldn’t notice something being slipped out of her pocket or if one of those bags were to disappear.
The man in the business suit. No doubt he was loaded, but his money was probably kept in one of those sneaky pockets by the lapels. No way was she going to risk that.
She let several potential victims go by before finally acting on one. She let them get a good look at her—they hardly suspected the ones they saw most clearly, contrary to popular belief—before lifting the averagely-made, average-looking wallet from their coat pocket as they walked by.
Snow was melting off to the side, and the air was a little crisper than she usually liked. Music was loud in her ears, the rhythm of her feet hitting the pavement not quite matching the beat of the song. The grass was green and the sun just coming up over the horizon.
This was her favorite part of the day. The peace of a world just beginning to wake up, the birdsong just barely making it to her ears through her earbuds and heavy breathing.
She stopped suddenly, at the top of a hill, the ground seeming to fall away in front of her. Taking the earbuds from her ears and letting the birdsong come in loud and clear.
Yeah, this would probably always be her favorite time.
The sun was sweltering. She could almost see steam rising from the water as she walked by it.
Of course, heat was nothing new to her, but right now even she was uncomfortable. Her cloak had been folded and tucked into her bag, and her boots taken off quite a while back. She was left in a rather revealing get-up, but she was alone in the woods, and the sun was hot, and she didn’t care.
After lifting her long hair off the back of her neck for the fifth time, she finally pulled it over one pale shoulder and set about braiding it. Hopefully it would stay this time. She sighed in relief when it was off her neck and the sweat there cooled slightly.
Summer would be over soon, and then she would be just as miserable, but groping for her cloak instead of wishing it would just disappear.
She wasn’t new to this town, nor was she a native. She’d been in Iselin roughly two months now—though if asked why she’d dodge the question easy as breathing.
Tulja had said once that she was from the small town—had mentioned how she missed it and would go there occasionally just because of her nostalgia.
Her gaze kept moving to the trees, watching how the leaves were clearly changing color—even though she could barely distinguish between them now. There was a hint of a red hue on most, a touch of yellow, she thought, if she squinted.
This used to be her favorite season. It wasn’t too hot or cold outside, and there’d been plenty to do on the occasion she was locked out of the house for a few hours.
Now, though, it just seemed to torture her. All the colors she could barely see, how rapidly the temperature would change as the sun set, the constant rain making her seek constant shelter—she’d gone to see Atios more times than she could count this season just for a sore throat or stuffy nose. And it would just get worse when winter came.
